


Euphoria

by stonecoldsilly



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Crack-ish, F/M, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Himbo Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, It's Eurovision Baby, Jaskier is the Best Bard on the Continent, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Not a modern AU, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24188230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonecoldsilly/pseuds/stonecoldsilly
Summary: Geralt finds Jaskier to apologise during the biggest week of the bard's life....that's right baby, Eurovision is coming to the Continent.*Not A Modern AU*
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 38
Kudos: 81





	1. Geralt Does His Best

He hadn't seen Jaskier since the Mountain. Belleteyn celebrations were in full bloom over the Continent, and Geralt usually aimed a slow path into the more densely populated areas to search for the bard whilst pretending nothing of the sort. This was shaping up to be the latest in the year they had ever reunited, but Geralt was still painfully aware that the fragile hope he had nurtured over winter in Kaer Morhen, that Jaskier would turn a corner and greet him as delightedly as ever, was probably not going to happen this time around. 

He caught himself lingering over the ales he managed to get served, spending longer and longer in towns on his own than he had in all the decades previous. He had to admit it, he was hoping for news; tales of noble conquests or a new song making the rounds at least. Or for some helpful villager to walk past and say 'Oh, the White Wolf's bard was here the other night!' so he at least would have a trail to follow.

Roach thought he was being ridiculous, but then she thought most things Geralt did were ridiculous.

He hadn't really let himself linger on what happened on the mountain, but the look on Jaskier's face was now firmly ensconced in the flicker of dead faces and bitter regrets that liked to run through his mind when things were too quiet. And it was quiet all the time now with just him and Roach, back on the Path alone again. 

He had fled King Niedamir's blasted mountain and gone straight to Kaer Morhen to winter, and had spent most of the time feverishly throwing himself into whatever work fixing up the place Vesemir could find him, and being even more snappish and sullen with his brothers than usual. And they were the only people he had left, which had just made him feel even worse.

Geralt had done a lot of things he regretted, mostly from a lack of better options, or too far in the past to think about fixing, but he had hurt Jaskier deliberately and cruelly. The business with Yennefer was a whole different kettle of fish. He had fucked up, but he had not intended to harm her. He knew that to go and apologise to her would not be welcomed or accepted right now. Forcing her hand would be the worst possible approach. Making amends with Yen would come in its own time, probably with a hefty price tag, but he would be willing to pay it as long as she didn’t hate him anymore.

Jaskier, on the other hand, probably deserved an apology. The looming Child Surprise, the bond with Yennefer, all the consequences to his stupid actions waiting in the future were something he could not change. But this was one thing he could do something about.

First, he had to find the bastard. Geralt had left Kaer Morhen the morning after the last snow had fallen, and swiftly made his way through Kaedwen, taking only the most dire contracts and leaving the rest for his brothers, who were sure to be setting out on the Path behind him.

It was a brand new year, and he had stewed the whole winter over what he was going to do, which had eventually resolved into a relatively simple plan: find Jaskier, apologise to Jaskier, at some point in the next decade get things with Yennefer civil enough for her to consider helping him and Jaskier raise the Child Surprise, kill monsters, collect coin. He had fled the keep full of momentum to get going, but he was getting almost frantic with desperation now.

He was a stone’s throw from the southern border with Redania and Aedirn now and deciding which direction to turn next was more difficult than he had anticipated. Yennefer at least, he could rely on turning up at the worst possible moment, but at least she would be there eventually, the bond between them pulling taut. Geralt had no such helpful magic where Jaskier was concerned. There was no fate, or destiny, or bond pulling them together, only companionship. Being so unshackled to the bard had felt a bit more like freedom, but now it was damn irritating. 

He knew Jaskier sometimes wintered in Oxenfurt, but he could equally be cosily nestled in some court anywhere in the Continent. He only had word of mouth to rely on, and hopefully his years of dealing with the bard would put him on the right track sooner or later. But summer was on its way, and he still had no idea where Jaskier could be. Geralt was starting to come around to the idea that if Jaskier had wanted to, he could have fucked off years ago without a trace. If no-one had heard from in months, then Jaskier could be in trouble. Maybe fallen to one of those cuckolded husbands or eaten by a kikimora or succumbed to a fever. He had to find him before it was too late or the last time he saw Jaskier would be seared into his mind as another failure to haunt him.

Geralt was at the point where he considered putting up posters. Some sort of ’Missing: have you seen this bard?’ ought to work, but they hadn’t been trained to draw at all in Kaer Morhen, and he didn’t fancy his chances at drawing a fair enough likeness. 

The thing was, he hadn’t actually outright asked anyone if they had seen Jaskier yet. He didn’t want word that a Witcher was hunting him to reach Jaskier before he did, in case he fled in the opposite direction, so he got even more funny looks than usual when he tried to casually drop leading questions about music into the usual where-is-the-monster-and-where-is-my-coin dialogue that passed for conversation around here nowadays. 

They finally got lucky in Ban Gleán, riding through the city on the way back from picking up some of the more esoteric potions ingredients. A stout merchant was talking to his fellow shopper, and with half an ear from around two corners Geralt managed to catch ‘-Marx for the final definitely, I caught the Cidaris final last year and cried for hours. Such a lovely voice!’

He had Roach turned around before the words had even registered properly and was bearing down on the merchant’s stall with rather more haste than was probably going to be useful by the time he got his head on straight. He dismounted easily and strode over, attempting to affect an air of nonchalance, and patted Roach on the flank to calm her down. This was the first outright mention of music he had managed to catch, and someone who knew of Valdo Marx might know about an even better bard.

At this point half the marketplace was eyeing him after the sudden rush of movement, but he sidled over to the corner of the stall and pretended to admire what looked to be a particularly ugly collection of fruit baskets as he tried to remain surreptitious. 

Happily, the merchant continued unawares. 

‘But to be honest my money’s on Dandelion, and you didn’t hear that from me!’ He said in hushed tones.

Geralt let out a huge puff of relief and had to lean on the stall to get his bearings back while he recovered.

‘Is he the one that does the Witcher songs?’ Said his companion, who seemed to have noticed Geralt’s approach and was casting nervous glances at Geralt as he tried to convey a fervent interest in two different types of wicker apple holders.

‘That’s the one. He’s been holed up in secret rehearsing all winter, but my cousin works for the university and said he’s bound to win. Put fifty of his own crowns on it after he caught him in the act with one of those big Zerrikanian fellows. Sworn to secrecy as to the content of the actual performance, of course, but said there was no harm in helping out family!’ The merchant finished with a wink, and seemed to finally notice Geralt practically vibrating with tension on the other side of his table.

Geralt’s back was damp with sweat now, and he felt even more aware of the hostile stares of humans than usual, but he had to get the merchant to tell him where Jaskier was. He knew he was no good at charming information out of people like the bard was, and his usual surly approach with a big pair of swords might result in being stoned out of yet another town after that mad gallop. There were an awful lot of eyes on him. He tried to think of what Jaskier would do in a situation like this and steeled himself to ask the merchant as nicely as he could. Gods but this would go better if he had been 4 ales down.

‘Excuse me, good sir?’ said Geralt politely.

He tried to make his eyes go as wide and innocent as the bard’s did when he was charming a free drink out of a pretty barmaid, but by the look of the merchant and his friend it hadn't really worked. 

‘I couldn’t help but overhear…you mentioned a competition?’ said Geralt as his ears got pinker.

His palms were sweating now too. The merchant patted his beard, looking puzzled, and his friend was outright staring.

‘The bardic competition in Oxenfurt, my good…Witcher?’ said the merchant slowly.

‘Yes? Do you happen to know when it is?’ Geralt managed. He was so close he could taste it. The merchant looked downright taken aback at this and gestured to the rest of the marketplace. 

‘Have you not seen the posters?’ He replied.

Geralt snapped his head round to look at the nearest wall in the marketplace, which did indeed proudly display several enormous red posters, proclaiming that the ‘Battle of the Bardes’ was to be held in Oxenfurt next week. 

‘You must be the White Wolf he sings of! I’m heading there myself,’ continued the merchant as Geralt’s breathing got back under control. ‘Won’t rush the trip to make it to the semi-finals, but I’ve got a ticket to the final night of course, to see your Master Jaskier perform.’

The world tipped back into sunlight and gold as the words ‘your Master Jaskier’ buzzed pleasantly through Geralt’s head. Here was someone else in the world who spoke his name, solid proof that Jaskier was still walking his Path even as Geralt did. He was so relieved that the rush of fellow feeling towards the blessed merchant quite overtook him, and he ended up getting back on Roach laden down with a veritable cornucopia of fruit baskets. He thanked the merchant profusely, handily proving that his Jaskier impression was second to none, and spurred Roach into a thundering gallop out of the city and straight towards Oxenfurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the set text for this fic is the winning 2012 Sweden entry - Loreen singing Euphoria live!


	2. Oxenfurt, Baby!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our soft boys are reunited. With extra baths!

Geralt, or most of him anyway, made it to Oxenfurt in time for the quarterfinals. 

Each town and village they sped through on the way seemed to be abuzz with music and snatches of Jaskier’s songs, and the main road to Redania was choked with merchants and groups of young people in rather more sparkly attire than Geralt was used to seeing, all heading the same way as him. 

He didn’t have time to stop and puzzle them out, but some of the more garishly dressed travellers hooted and hollered at him as he passed them. He even caught sight of a few dressed up to resemble Jaskier, even down to the cut of his doublet, which sent his slow heart cracking into overdrive. None of them smelled right, and upon closer inspection they would be too short, or not smiling enough, and several turned out to be women. 

Nobody seemed to be worried about his presence on the road though, a lot less recoiling than he usually received, which was somewhat explained when he came across a massive group spread between four carts who cheered as he approached behind them on the path. Several of them appeared to be bards themselves, banging various instruments and leaving trails of glittering makeup and brightly coloured feathers that marked their passing for miles back. 

A few of the bards in the group were dressed more dourly than the rest, in black outfits and white wigs that varied from expensive Temerian designs to strips of white fabric tied on top of their heads. They stood and whooped much more loudly than the others when he cantered past. 

When he caught sight of one with two wooden swords strapped to their back he realised they were dressed as him, and only by gripping the pommel like a madman did he stop from sliding right off Roach with the shock of it. His head swivelled all the way back around to catch sight of them again quite without his permission, and he didn’t know what expression was on his face. He couldn’t dawdle enough to stop and ask them what on earth they were doing, but he didn’t scent any monsters under the reek of perfumes and alcohol, so he and Roach carried on to faint strains of Toss a Coin following them up the road.

Once they reached Redania proper, signs of Jaskier’s presence sprang up frequently. Geralt kept an eye out for more posters now that his attention had been drawn to them, and the Redanian ones all had pictures of Jaskier on them. He had to blink a lot the first time he saw one. 

Some had a decent drawing of his face, and some just the outline of his body holding the lute, all proclaiming Jaskier a local Redanian boy. From overheard conversations he managed to work out that Jaskier had won the tournament to represent Redania last summer, amidst strong competition from the local contingent at Oxenfurt. Jaskier had been absent for a couple of weeks around then, when Geralt had last bumped into Yennefer, maybe a month or two before the disastrous dragon hunt. 

He tried to remember if Jaskier had mentioned it at all, but Geralt tended to tune out when the bard was talking about music. He liked listening to the actual playing, but Jaskier could keep up a constant patter about the intricacies of pavanes and courtly dances for about six hours with no input from Geralt save hums. He timed it once, out of interest.

Some blue posters had also appeared on various walls and fences as he travelled, with a much sterner face than Jaskier’s. Huge black letters pronounced him to be ‘VALDO MARX!’ representing Cidaris, and Geralt resolved to despise him as soon as he laid eyes on the man.

Geralt and Roach finally got to Oxenfurt five days after they set out. He’d pushed Roach as hard as he dared, but she seemed to appreciate his need for haste, and only rolled her eyes at him when he’d explained that they had to find Jaskier. 

They’d stopped often enough that she could rest, and he made sure to scavenge for the best apples as he caught his own dinner. He had not stopped to bathe, only refill his waterskin and let Roach drink to her heart’s content, much less get some decent sleep. 

After the first wave of relief at finally heading in the right direction, he had been tossing and turning in his bedroll while Roach slept peacefully next to him. He didn’t know what he was going to say to Jaskier. Or even if Jaskier would see him.

Geralt spent the nights planning long speeches and extravagant gestures, and then his resolve would dampen in the cold light of dawn as he started fretting again. Jaskier was very popular, and very charming, and adored enough across the Continent to have people dress up as him. What if he didn’t want to travel with Geralt anymore?

It was with a constant low level of panic in his gut that they rode into town. Oxenfurt was absolutely full to the rafters with people, more than Geralt had ever seen in his life all bustling about the streets and spilling out of the inns to drink outside in the sunshine. He hadn’t been to the city recently, not in the last decade or so, but he could have sworn there were a lot fewer people last time. There were even people putting up well provisioned camps outside the city, and musicians had set up on nearly every corner. 

He had to dismount eventually, when the mass of people grew too great for Roach to push through and took her to where he remembered the city stables were last time he was here. They’d expanded massively, with horses of every size and colour eyeing him half-heartedly as he approached. He managed to get a spot for Roach with more coin than he’d thought possible, but space looked to be at a premium at the moment and she would be glad of the chance to rest. He made sure to brush her down himself and patted her nose farewell as she settled into her oats.

Geralt strode out into the city and was immediately overwhelmed with the cacophony around him. This many humans tended to mean trouble for him, and he kept checking his swords reflexively. He had no idea where Jaskier would be and decided to just start walking until he found him.

He kept his bearings in the city streets, only barely, and his enhanced senses seemed to be useless when there was so much to pick up on. Jaskier seemed to be every second word the crowd was humming, and all the musicians had their own interpretations of his songs; even the ones Jaskier only seemed to perform on special occasions were belted out at top volume to hordes of excitable people. He trudged round what felt like most of Oxenfurt before the posters of Jaskier along the walls seemed to be getting even more prominent and elaborate. 

Luckily after more than a few hours Geralt ended up stuck behind several visiting Skelligans with horrendously thick accents who were dawdling along and peering up at a house on the other side of the street. 

‘Do you think Jaskier will come out? Our boys said he was the one to beat.’ Said one of them excitedly, gawping at the dim windows as if Jaskier was going to wave out at them at any minute.

Geralt was staring at the house too, and now he realised it, so were lots of the people passing. A few small children were cheering and shouting about Dandelion as if their lungs would burst. There were plenty of girls lingering in the area, giggling with their friends and most of them with flowers in their hair or on their dresses. The house looked rich and impressive, and there were at least three men guarding the front doors. 

A few of the more flower covered women were talking to the guards, smiling and simpering coquettishly. He didn’t give himself time to think but strode over as quickly as he could without squashing anyone.

‘Is Jaskier staying here?’ He addressed the closest guard politely.

‘Well look what we’ve got here boys, it’s the White Wolf himself!’ The other guards chuckled at this and moved to block the door entirely. ‘I bet you spent ages working on that get-up, didn’t you?’

‘What?’ said Geralt, trying not to look as baffled as he felt.

‘Go on, piss off. You’re the third one we’ve had today. Thought that was a right laugh, didn’t you?’ The other guards were eyeing him now, as if to judge whether they could stop him making a run for the door.

‘But I am the White Wolf? I mean… I am Geralt of Rivia?’ he said, feeling more foolish than ever.

‘Go on lad, you’ll see him perform tonight.’ Geralt looked between the guards’ expressions searchingly, but there was no help to be found there.

He slunk off back to the other side of the road rather shamefacedly. 

‘At least the others had gifts for Himself. Turning up emptyhanded, tsk, tsk.’ The guard remarked at Geralt’s back, and Geralt’s spine stiffened even more.

He had gotten so excited at seeing the bard again that he had forgotten the plan. There were still a few hours of daylight left, and the posters said Jaskier was performing in the evening, in the city marketplace. He still had time.

Geralt squelched back into the city centre two hours later. He hadn’t bothered Roach for such a short trip, but the nearest contract was in the sewers, so he had run flat out after searching noticeboards for a monster. Drowners were tedious work, but he had received even more coin than the alderman had offered when the man recognised him as the subject of one of ‘Master Jaskier’s songs’. He supposed it was easier to prove you were actually a Witcher when you were holding bits of monster parts as proof. 

He had dunked himself in the river before heading back into more civilised parts, but he didn’t have time to wait and dry out. He had shopping to do.

Geralt rushed through the marketplace like a whirlwind, hurrying between stalls and buying anything colourful and gaudy that caught his eye. He ended up with several dozen rings, three necklaces, two dresses, an entire armful of beautiful soft blankets and a rather squat vase that almost matched Jaskier’s eyes. He did not dare brave the flower stall, as that was too crowded even for his purpose, but grabbed some nettles and big leaves he spotted on his way past the river. 

Fully burdened down now, he bared his teeth to push through the throng. Several of the pushy crowd just snarled back at him. It was getting even more hectic as evening drew in and Geralt detoured back to the stables to grab the fruit baskets that were still dangling off Roach’s tack on the side of her stable, and shoved everything in and slung them on his back.

‘Wish me luck?’ he said, and she whinnied at him, which seemed rather promising, so he fed her a sugar lump and ploughed through the city to where Jaskier was staying.

The guards were looking more alert as the sun set behind the houses, so Geralt avoided their gaze and sloped around the back of the house. There was only one guard at this side, and if Geralt couldn’t manage one guard even laden down, then he wasn’t much of a Witcher at all.

He shimmied over the fence whisper-quiet and slunk through the back garden on silent feet. Away from the rush of the streets beyond, it was a lot easier to sense Jaskier. He could hear the plucking of strings through a window on the second floor, and it was a sound he had heard often in his sleep.

Geralt braced himself and began to climb the side of the house. The handholds were perilous for humans certainly, but he got a good grip on the window ledge in no time at all and was sliding the window up before he really had a chance to wind himself up.

The room was candlelit and warm, and Jaskier himself was sitting on the bed in a dressing gown and tuning his elven lute, looking the same as ever.

He ducked into the room, carefully pulling in the heavy baskets behind him, and Jaskier squawked and threw a dagger at him. He dodged it through sheer reflex, but his heart was sinking through his boots and he half wondered whether he should have let it hit him. 

‘Good grief, what on earth are you doing?’ 

Jaskier was still squawking, but it was so good to hear his voice again that Geralt couldn’t help but break into a smile.

‘Come here.’ 

Jaskier sounded quite firm now and swiftly pulled another dagger from his sleeve.

Geralt moved closer obediently, and then froze as Jaskier pressed a silver blade against his throat. Jaskier had earned an apology, and if he wanted to stab Geralt a little then he would just have to hold still for it. 

‘Oh goodness you really are Geralt aren’t you.’ Jaskier said with an air of relief, and suddenly the dagger was hidden from sight again.

‘Terribly sorry about that but we had a doppler in the night before last, so I had to be sure.’

Geralt was still trying to catch up on the proceeding twenty seconds before he felt up to working through that alarming statement.

‘What are you doing here Geralt?’ continued Jaskier, eyeing him as he started to drip on the carpet. 

‘…I got you presents.’ Said Geralt haltingly. 

‘Presents, goodness how lovely!’ said Jaskier almost absentmindedly who was now pacing up and down in front of the bed. 

Geralt slowly took in the rest of the room, which had flowers spilling over on every surface imaginable, and the wardrobe looked stuffed to the brim with silky looking doublets and gauzy material.

He felt very sheepish now, but he began unloading his wares onto the bedspread, and jammed the nettles into his vase and shoved them onto the bedside table on the side Jaskier usually slept on when they were staying in an inn.

Jaskier was watching him now, long delicate fingers tapping against his lips as he took in the damp Witcher before him and his spoils of war with several merchants.

‘Well thank you Geralt, that was very nice of you, but I am actually in the middle of something at the- ‘said Jaskier.

‘I came to say sorry….’ Said Geralt hurriedly, before Jaskier could get any further.

‘Did you? For what?’ 

The bard sounded quite flat, and Geralt opened his mouth to explain, every pre-prepared speech flying right out of his head as he drank in the sight of Jaskier in front of him again. The full force of the bard’s attention was on him now, and he felt quite caught in the man’s gaze. He was stuck, floundering for ideas, and trying to stop staring helplessly into those big blue eyes.

Jaskier seemed to shake himself out of it and whirled back around.

‘I don’t have time for this tonight Geralt, but we’ll talk tomorrow, alright? I’m performing in less than an hour now, and I haven’t changed yet. Where are you staying?’

The bard’s tone was softer, and he smiled just a little when the nettles caught his eye, so naturally Geralt’s knees went slightly wobbly with relief. He wasn’t being dismissed entirely from Jaskier’s presence; his friend was just very busy this evening.

‘I hadn’t looked for an inn yet, but Roach is at the city stables.’ Geralt said quickly.

Jaskier’s smile widened even further at the mention of Roach, and he resolved to bring her up at every opportunity. 

‘Goodness, how is the old girl? And you’re never going to find an inn tonight Geralt, they’ve been booked out for weeks!’ He sighed and fixed Geralt with his best glare.

Geralt had never told him that it was about as intimidating as a particularly vicious hedgehog and didn’t see any reason to do so now.

He tried to look respectable and well-behaved, widening his eyes to look innocent but the puddle dripping from his trousers rather betrayed him. 

Jaskier snorted at him and marched over to the door of the bedroom, swinging it open with a flourish and yelling ‘Marta! Darling!’

Geralt’s expression immediately dropped and he shuffled his feet rather than be greeted by Jaskier’s latest paramour. Instead of the graceful beauty he expected, a rather short middle-aged woman clucked into the room and took him and his puddle in with a whispered ‘Are you sure Master Jaskier?’

‘A bath for Geralt here please while I get ready. He’ll be staying with us. And perhaps a dinner? Nothing fancy, my dear, but whatever you have that there’s plenty of. He’s a big boy, this one.’ Jaskier patted Geralt’s shoulder and walked past him to the most elaborate dressing table he had ever seen.

Marta clucked back off again, and Geralt stood rooted to the spot as he waited. Jaskier had patted him, like he used to, and let him stay in his nice big house, but this wasn’t turning out at all like he had thought. He was uncertain about where they stood now, and out of his element where Jaskier seemed to belong.

Jaskier caught his eye in the mirror as he began to tease at his hair and sighed with exasperation. 

‘It’s alright Geralt, really. You just concentrate on getting all that armour off before the bath gets here.’ He smiled invitingly and started opening various perfumed bottles and powders. 

Geralt smiled back at him and got to work undoing the more difficult buckles. 

The air was filled with Jaskier humming and preening, and his shoulders lost a bit of that tension they had carried ever since that disastrous mountain.

Geralt was just pulling his undershirt off when the door opened again and a gaggle of servants came in, bearing steaming water jugs and one balancing several platters of cold cuts and bread rolls. They pulled out a huge copper tub from the corner of the room and filled it up almost to the brim, then collected various stray pieces of Geralt’s armour for cleaning, bowed and left again as swiftly as they had arrived.

He started tugging off his trousers and made the mistake of glancing back up at Jaskier. He was concentrating on painting his face, and the warm candlelight caught the glittering powder around his eyes until it shimmered. It was an arresting sight, and he felt half-guilty for watching him. Years on the Path together had seen them lose all modesty, but this novelty seemed very intimate in the hush of Jaskier’s bedroom.

Jaskier was painting his lips a deep dark crimson now, lips plush in the mirror’s reflection.

Geralt stripped off and ducked into the bath quickly. 

He splashed around a bit, and then before he could lose his nerve, blurted out, ’I really am sorry.’ 

Geralt slunk under the water, only his eyes and nose above the surface.

Jaskier got up from the dressing table and leaned over the side of the bath with his arms folded, looking very peevish.

Geralt hoped he looked very sorry indeed and peered up at him hopefully. 

Jaskier's expression softened, and he seemed to relent and pressed a swift kiss to his forehead before heading over to the wardrobe.

Geralt couldn’t help smiling now, and Jaskier pretended to be cross with him as he peeled off his dressing gown and started to dress.

‘I suppose you think you’re all forgiven now, hmm? Come in here and scare the life out of me, dripping all over my nice floor, and demanding a hot bath! Well I shan’t stand for it Geralt, I really won’t. I shall be having stern words with you tomorrow, when I’ve time to give you a proper bollocking. Come on, you scrub quick now, we haven’t got long.’ 

Geralt located the soap and set about getting clean. It was a waste of such a nice bath when he usually liked to linger over them until he was fully boiled, but there might be a chance of another if he was going to be staying with Jaskier.

‘I suppose there is one way you can make it up to me.’ Said Jaskier thoughtfully.

Geralt nearly dropped the soap in his haste to look back at Jaskier, who was pouring himself into some sort of lace contraption.

‘Do you think you could stand a bit of bodyguard duty again? I know last time turned out rather disastrously.’ Jaskier’s smile fled rather quickly as he said this, but he plastered it back on and continued, ‘it’s only that bastard Valdo, I really think he would do away with me quite happily if he got half the chance. And of course, the other delegations are deadly serious about this competition, and I do mean deadly.’ 

Jaskier was looking rather hopeful now, and Geralt was so relieved he really did drop the soap.

‘Of course, Jaskier, anything you want.’ He replied eagerly and gave up the soap as a lost cause. 

Keeping Jaskier safe was something he definitely knew how to do, and he was filled with new purpose as he swung himself back out of the bath.

‘Goodness, aren’t you being sweet to me?’ Jaskier outright beamed at him, and Geralt had to busy himself looking for a towel before he embarrassed himself and begged for forgiveness on bended knee.

‘Eat your dinner dear, then your armour should be a bit cleaner. I do wish you had arrived tomorrow though. Tonight’s song choices are a tad unfortunate under the circumstances, but they were picked out ages ago so that can’t be helped. Now where are the goddamn shoes?’ 

Geralt helped himself to as much bread and beef as he could stuff in his mouth while Jaskier hunted for the rest of his outfit, resolving to push down the twinge of hurt that bloomed at the bard’s words. He would have to wait and see what was so bad about the songs Jaskier was going to play, and if they were about him, as most of Jaskier’s song were, and terribly rude, then he supposed he deserved it. But it was probably going to be a very large audience hearing them. He would just have to grin and bear it. 

Jaskier was now pulling on a pair of terrifically long boots on over tight leather trousers, and the rest of the outfit had righted itself into a rich blue lace doublet over an extremely thin silk chemise. The bard noticed his stare and sauntered over to Geralt, preening. 

‘Well, what do you think?’ said Jaskier, and with a shock Geralt realised that the bard was standing taller than he was on heeled boots.

He swallowed the very dry mouthful of beef and said, ‘You look…lovely.’

Jaskier gasped and pretended to swoon into his arms. Geralt was left standing in a towel, with an armful of giggling bard pressed against his side, and he couldn’t resist anymore. He gave up all pretence and hugged Jaskier closer, burying his nose in the warm scent of him, reassuring himself that Jaskier was here and present and real after so long apart. 

‘Missed you.’ He mumbled into Jaskier’s neck, and Jaskier hugged him back tightly.

‘I missed you too, you silly goose.’ Jaskier said. 

Geralt dashed a quick peck to Jaskier’s cheek and grinned like a cat as he watched Jaskier dashing about the room to collect the rest of his belongings.

‘Don’t just stand there you daft bugger.’ Jaskier threw some clothes at him and huffed. ‘I really don’t know what you’re smirking at, you’ve got five minutes to get your armour back on and then we really have to go!’

Geralt found his armour piled up outside the bedroom door, and scrambled into something approximating his usual outfit, but he couldn’t seem to stop smiling.


	3. The Quarterfinals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt gets to see Jaskier in action.

Geralt felt more settled than he had in ages at Jaskier’s side.

They were heading back to the marketplace now. Jaskier had fussed over his armour and made sure his hair was hanging slightly better round his face before grabbing his lute and shoving Geralt out of the bedroom door. The corridor outside it was full of other musicians all dressed in matching red and gold, cheering and laughing as they spilled throughout the house. They all headed in the same direction with Jaskier’s entrance though, hurrying down the stairs in a burst of noise and out into the city before Geralt had a chance to do more than look about him.

Two of the guards around the front door of the house peeled off and kept time with them in a loose escort, and Geralt took great pride in glaring at them smugly as he marched on next to Jaskier.

Jaskier was at the centre of the procession; a gaggle of excited troubadours surrounding them, wishing him luck and tossing jokes back and forth as they sped through the city in the warm evening air. There must have been at least twenty of them, all in shining red and gold, beaming smiles and orbiting around Jaskier, competing for his attention and trying to outdo each other with spontaneous couplets on the beauty of his eyes just to see him cackle.

Geralt kept himself at Jaskier’s side and concentrated on anyone who looked like they might be a threat. 

He couldn’t help but be swept up in all the merry clamour though, and half of the group had burst into a cheery ditty about Jaskier that the rest began chanting and stamping along with as they danced through the streets. The onlookers lining the road stopped and cheered as well as soon as they caught sight of them, and Jaskier waved back and blushed very fetchingly. They threw flowers over Jaskier as well, and showers of petals spun through the air around them as they made their way through the city.

‘Oh Geralt, this is Annabelle, and the dashing gentlemen with her is Jannick. And Stefan over there is our resident percussionist. They’re all Oxenfurt graduates, and very kindly agreed to help me with my performance. I’ll introduce you to everyone else when we have a minute.’ He tossed over his shoulder to Geralt as the pace increased.

The three nearest musicians all smiled at Geralt and waved as they continued to chant about Jaskier and his victories. 

The one Jaskier had named ‘Stefan’ broke off from his singing and yelled ‘This is the real one then is it I suppose?’

Jaskier laughed and called back ‘The White Wolf himself, come to watch my little competition!’

Geralt was even more smug at this and took the liberty of tugging Jaskier’s elbow a little so they were walking shoulder to shoulder.

They were soon nearing the marketplace, and if he had thought the place was busy before, it paled in comparison to what he was seeing now. The stalls had all been taken down, and more than a thousand people must have been crammed in there. Huge torches were speared at intervals along the walls and enchanted lights illuminated in a hundred different colours hung over the crowd. 

The balmy evening air was echoing with hundreds of voices, and their quick march around the streets parallel to the square let Geralt catch the occasional glimpse of the festivities. He was suddenly hot with nerves. There were far too many people for him to fight off if it came to it, and if the exuberant mood soured once they spotted a Witcher, he didn’t know what he was going to do to protect himself and Jaskier too.

The happy relief that he had felt at being with Jaskier shivered away, and he felt quite panicked now, trying to work out how fast he could grab the bard and get to Roach should they need to make a quick escape.

He felt Jaskier’s hand slip into his as they walked, and he managed to squeeze it softly. Jaskier was watching him with a reassuring smile on his face, and he tried to steady his breathing again. 

‘It’s all right Geralt. Nothing will happen. I have the White Wolf to protect me, and I’ll protect you right back, just see if I don’t.’ Said Jaskier calmly.

Their progress was halted then, another large group of musicians coming towards them, but these were dressed in blue and gold instead. The mood shifted in an instant and the Redanian group’s cheers turned to baiting cries and taunts, and they all closed ranks even tighter around Jaskier. Geralt pushed in front of Jaskier and grabbed the handle of his sword in one swift movement. 

One of the blue clad musicians stepped closer, just a few paces from Geralt, and he looked to resemble the man on all the ‘Valdo Marx’ posters. 

He was strikingly handsome with dark hair and a well-trimmed goatee, and taller even than Jaskier in his heeled boots. Geralt did, in fact, despise him instantly.

‘Jaskier darling, you look radiant in blue.’ He said with an inviting smile, and Geralt snarled. Jaskier really did look jewel-like in blue against the sea of Redanian red, but that didn’t mean that this Marx person had to go around pointing it out to everybody.

Jaskier patted Geralt’s arm reassuringly as he sauntered over to the man and twirled around elegantly, displaying his lithe body to great effect, as the crowd around them whooped and cheered.

‘Do you really think so?’ Jaskier fluttered his eyelashes and looked up at Marx coyly.

The other man looked positively besotted at this and took Jaskier’s hands to press fervent kisses to his knuckles whilst Jaskier’s cheeks flushed a very flattering shade of pink. Geralt was awfully close to hauling the bard back behind him, as far away from Valdo Marx as he could manage.

‘Oh, I wore it just for you, Valdo.’ sighed Jaskier sweetly, looking up at Marx and biting his lip.

Geralt was aware that Jaskier was charming, and regularly entertained both handsome men and beautiful women in his bed, but this was seduction like nothing he had ever seen before.

‘Oh, what I would give for a night alone with you, little dove!’ Marx exclaimed. ‘Singing so beautifully just for me!’ 

Catcalls rose from the watching musicians around them.

Jaskier swayed in even closer, as though he couldn’t help himself, and whispered in his ear. ‘I’d rather be screaming for you.’ 

Marx looked downright flustered at this brazen comment. Nobody else heard save Geralt, cursing his keen senses for once. His palms itched for his swords properly in his hands instead of strapped uselessly to his back.

Jaskier pressed a lingering kiss to the man’s cheek as Marx gaped helplessly and strutted back to Geralt’s side, hips swaying hypnotically in his tight black hose.

The Redanian party once again started back up in full swing around them, hooting innuendos and teasing Jaskier good-naturedly, leaving Marx and the Cidarian delegation shouting passionate declarations of love behind them. 

They moved through to the back of the marketplace proper, blocked off from the massive audience. The guards peeled off from their group and stood watch outside.

Backstage was full of brightly dressed people tuning instruments and applying makeup and perfumes and trilling peals of song in harmony. The noise grew even louder as most of them perked up and chattered to their neighbours as Jaskier moved through the clumps of performers, waving at those he recognised, which seemed to be nearly all of them. 

They were met by an eager and harried sounding man who seemed to be one of the organisers, who led their group over to a slightly more private dressing area, and everyone settled into final adjustments of their costumes and checking over their instruments. 

Jaskier checked his reflection in the mirrors and reapplied his lip paint. Geralt grabbed for the nearest mug of ale and downed it in about three swallows.

‘So…you and that Valdo?’ Geralt didn’t realise that he was going to say that until it was too late.

‘Hah.’ Jaskier snorted. ‘We were at Oxenfurt at the same time and had a short-lived dalliance. He’s been trying to get back in my trousers ever since. Hopefully, his mind will be so addled with thoughts of me that he’ll quite forget how to sing. He really is quite good unfortunately.’

Geralt laughed and decided to chop Marx’s hands off if he ever touched Jaskier again.

‘It does rather differ to how you distract the enemy in your battles, doesn’t it?’ Jaskier joked. ‘Now don’t fret Geralt. I will concede your expertise in fighting monsters, but this is my turn to show off.’ He finished smugly, gesturing at the dazzling display of performers around them.

Several of the Redanians approached Jaskier then, and he smiled and chatted about tuning and major keys with them as Geralt surveyed their surroundings. 

Through an enormous pair of black curtains lining the dressing areas he could make out glimpses of the milling audience in the square, and as the evening drew on the air fizzed with expectation. 

One of the Redanians burst into the dressing area then and announced ‘We’re on sixth! I’ve just heard from Master Adalbrecht!’ He was clutching his flute tightly and looked about to keel over.

The whole room started squawking then, and they all dashed about in even more of a rush than before.Jaskier alone looked calm and ready, idly swinging his legs as he reclined in his chair. 

‘What’s the rest of the running order?’ he remarked, kicking at Geralt’s legs with a smile on his face. 

The flutist fluttered over and said ‘It’s Temeria first, Creyden, Caingorn , Aedirn, Nilfegaard, then us, then it’s Metinna, Kerack, Poviss and Kovir, then it’s the Cidarians, then Cintra, the Skelligans, , Nazair, Lyria and Rivia, and bloody Toussaint are closing.’

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at him, and the flutist looked chastened and retreated to safer territory.

Geralt was baffled by the list of this many far-flung kingdoms. 

‘Even Nilfegaard sends people to this thing?’ He asked. He tried not to sound as bewildered as he was feeling, with what seemed like limited success. 

Jaskier’s head snapped up, and he raised an eyebrow at Geralt instead. 

‘Yes, they won the time before last….’ He paused and regarded Geralt with rather more surprise than he had thought his question warranted. 

‘Geralt, you have no idea what’s going on, do you?’ He sounded delighted now, as if he had caught Geralt sneaking an extra apple to Roach, which he had in fact done many times.

Geralt shrugged and gave up the pretence. ‘No, I just came to see you.’

‘You soppy old thing.’ Jaskier tucked his legs under himself and settled into his chair. ‘This is the Continental Bardic Festival. Each country chooses one act to represent them, and I, for my sins, am upholding Redania’s reputation singlehandedly. Have you really never attended before?’

‘Never been a big fan of…. Other people’s music.’ He finished diplomatically, and smirked at Jaskier, who had nearly choked on his glass of water. He spluttered and laughed, and the cheers and delighted yells of the crowd in the background suddenly swelled massively in volume.

‘That’ll be Temeria starting up. I want to stick around long enough to catch Valdo’s performance, but after that we can head back to the house? We don’t have to stick around for the judging; the host country is always guaranteed a spot in the final.’ Said Jaskier.

‘Whose house is that anyway?’ said Geralt, trying to make sense of it all.

‘Oh, it was set aside by the King specifically for our delegation. We’re all staying there, and we’re two to a bed as it is, so you’ll be bunking with me tonight.’ Jaskier teased.

Geralt smiled helplessly back at him, and Jaskier winked. ‘And no hanky panky, do you hear? You keep those big paws to yourself. I can’t afford to be in anything less than top condition.’

Geralt watched over Jaskier happily as he moved off to calm some of the more excitable Redanians, who were starting to get panicky at their performance neared. He managed to soothe them all, and then returned for his lute and checked his face over once more before working through one last tuning.

He paused, and nodding at Geralt, indicated an area to the side of the curtains that was relatively clear of flapping musicians, and said ‘If you stand there while we’re on, you’ll be able to see everything.’

Geralt hummed in agreement and checked his own weapons briefly, determining that everything was still present and in one piece.

Several performances had passed by now, and as a rather exotic sounding troupe began to play on the stage, the frantic mass of the Redanians had resolved itself into something more orderly.

‘That’s the Nilfegaardians then, we’re next on chaps! You’ll all be brilliant, I’m sure of it!’ Jaskier addressed the room and stood up with a flourish.

They all piled out to follow him, and Geralt watched them line up, instruments in hand and looking less nervous and more excited as their turn approached. Geralt put himself round the corner, where he could see the stage in full. There were four Nilfegaardians on stage, two men singing a duet in their native tongue as two women danced gracefully around them. The volume of it was astonishing; they could all be heard well over the roaring crowd, and Geralt’s medallion caught the hum of extensive spellwork.

They eventually finished to huge applause, and one of the announcers in peacocking finery stood at the side of the stage and boomed.  
‘And that was Nilfegaard’s brilliant entry! Will it be enough to get them to the finals? You’ll just have to wait and see! Now it’s the moment we Redanians have been waiting for…. the one, the only, Jaskier!’

The enormous crowd burst into a wave of cheers and screams so loud Geralt physically recoiled from it. He clapped his hands over his ears, but they didn’t settle down for several agonising seconds.

The Redanian troupe walked out and readied their respective instruments, and the lights dimmed on the stage. A huge arc of light from one of the enchanted lanterns illuminated Jaskier standing alone, holding his lute in an exaggerated pose. 

The audience went wild again, and then quieted down dramatically as Jaskier began to play.

The soft notes filled the marketplace with ease and Geralt leaned against the nearest post to watch the master bard at work.

‘The fairer sex, they often call it…’ 

Geralt hadn’t heard Jaskier play this one before. The crowd were visibly enraptured, several women nearest the front outright crying.

‘She's always bad news, it's always lose, lose so tell me love, tell me love how is that just?’

Jaskier leaned over the front of the stage, crooning out into the mass of people and picking out women to blow kisses at.  
The rest of the troupe began to play as well then, and the music swelled and soared.

‘But the story is this, she'll destroy with her sweet kiss…’

Geralt didn’t know who Jaskier was singing about, but he did wonder why Jaskier had rather he arrived the next day rather than hear it. He committed the lyrics to memory so he could puzzle over them later, and tried to enjoy how Jaskier bewitched everyone watching him as the words buzzed around his head.

‘I'm weak my love, and I am wanting…’ 

Jaskier’s head was turned to where Geralt was standing, and he caught Geralt’s eye for a second before he sang back at the crowd again. Geralt was suddenly far too hot in his armour. He nearly missed the rest of the song, gazing at Jaskier and feeling every drop of sweat trickle down his back.

They finished the song with roars of approval, and Jaskier bowed and picked at his lute again.

‘Thank you very much, that was a new one especially for Oxenfurt! Is everybody having a good night?’ He shouted out over the square, and everyone cheered and whooped back, chanting his name.

‘I’d like to dedicate this one to the White Wolf himself, who’s here in Oxenfurt tonight!’ The audience whooped at this, and Geralt’s jaw dropped with surprise before he regained control over his expression again.

Jaskier nodded at the musicians and strummed out the opening chords to Toss a Coin. Everyone in the crowd was singing along too, and Jaskier strutted up and down the stage as the Redanian musicians joined in. Geralt realised that this was how Jaskier had written it to be played, with all the flourishes of what looked to be a huge percussion set joining in and even the three women singing in harmony accompanying him. It sounded very different than when it was played on the road, with what must have been a thousand people bellowing the chorus back to Jaskier, who was basking in the admiration, dancing and swaying around the stage in time to the music and gesturing for the audience to sing even louder.

Jaskier knew how to play his audience brilliantly, and he looked at home on stage in front of an adoring crowd as he did out in the middle of the woods with just Geralt and Roach to play for. Geralt’s chest swelled with pride, and he was again reminded how lucky he was to be in his company. 

Jaskier was immensely popular, and if the bard had one of his many admirers for company tonight, Geralt resolved to wait patiently outside the bedroom door until they had finished before turfing them out. Jaskier had promised that Geralt would be sharing with him, after all.

The Redanians finally finished, and what appeared to be the next group from Metinna were waiting to go on. Jaskier and the musicians bowed to boisterous cheers and stomps and left the stage in a whirl of red and gold. Geralt kept his eyes peeled for that darting flash of blue in their midst and abandoned his hiding place to re-join the bard.

Jaskier was laughing delightedly with joy sparking in his bright eyes, and most of the musicians still waiting backstage were clapping for him as well. When Geralt approached him, Jaskier took his hand and twirled him around, flushed with victory as the musicians around them embraced and broke off into dances of their own.

Jaskier grinned devilishly at him and twined his arms around Geralt’s neck. 

‘Go on then, Geralt.’ He said cheekily. ‘How’s my singing?’ 

Geralt tugged the bard closer by the hips and decided honesty was probably the best way to get back into the bard’s good books.  
‘Beautiful.’ He said in earnest, looking into Jaskier’s pretty blue eyes. Jaskier’s hair was damp with sweat, curling at the ends, and his eye makeup was smudged slightly, but he was still glowing with post performance energy. 

‘Flatterer.’ Said Jaskier and tapped him on the nose with one long finger. 

He relented then and swung himself under Geralt’s arm. Jaskier tucked himself in to his side and rallied the troops to observe the rest of the musicians and weigh up their competition.

Geralt decided that watching the rest of the performances with his arm around Jaskier and Jaskier’s wickedly scathing commentary in his ear was probably one of the best ways he had spent an evening in months.

Each of Jaskier’s merry band came up and congratulated him on his performance as they idly watched the rest, and he introduced all of them to Geralt properly now, calling him ‘my darling Witcher’, and ‘my dear White Wolf’ over and over until Geralt’s head was quite spinning with praise.

Each of Jaskier’s friends shook his hand merrily, and no scent of fear or unease came off them at all. They were all introduced as old friends of Jaskier’s, from Oxenfurt or met on his travels, and all had happily heeded his call to play at the festival.

It was remarkable, being included easily in the conversation with this many humans, but after years of experience with Jaskier he knew enough to tell them all that they had performed well, and after that they indulged him quite happily and plied him with ale, and begged for stories of Jaskier’s adventures with him on the road. He merely smiled and told them that Jaskier was by far the better storyteller.

Jaskier poked him in the side at this, and grinned at him, looking loose and relaxed with happiness, but then the Cidarians were announced and their group fell into hushed whispers as they observed.

Valdo Marx was extremely good even to Geralt’s untrained ears, and the audience clearly adored him, but he couldn’t hold a candle to Jaskier even at his worst. 

Geralt made sure to tell Jaskier this and was rewarded with Jaskier peppering his face with kisses and calling him sweet again. He was sure that he would be bright red if he had still been capable of blushing, and he decided to compliment Jaskier as much as he could if that was the reaction he got. 

He still felt a twinge of nerves every so often about trying to explain himself to Jaskier as promised, but then the bard would shift under his arm as he gestured to his friends, and Geralt could bask in his scent again and feel his warm body pressed close, which calmed his nerves very successfully.

As the Cidarians finished onstage, the Redanians all made to grab their instruments at Jaskier’s command and fell back around them in a protective circle of red and gold again. They all headed back out into the city, attracting cheers once more as they danced through the streets. The inns lining their route looked warm and inviting, with people of every shape and colour chattering and dancing in the road outside, and even Geralt was tempted. 

Jaskier smiled up at him, catching his gaze and said, ‘I bet you’re tired, aren’t you?’

He nodded back, feeling the hard riding of the past few days catch up with him all at once at the reminder. 

‘We’ll rest tonight, and then tomorrow we can go to as many parties as you can keep up with.’ Jaskier teased.

Geralt hummed sulkily, but before he knew it, they were in front of the house again, and the chorus of musicians bid them goodnight amidst gales of merriment and laughter.

As soon as they reached Jaskier’s bedroom, he peeled himself straight back out of his armour and clambered into the bed on the side he usually slept on. He made sure his swords were within reach, but if anyone was going to try and get to Jaskier they had a whole house of very loud musicians to get through first. 

He lay there, warm and cosy on soft sheets, watching Jaskier washing his face and stripping off his fine new clothes, humming and chattering away as he did so.

Jaskier was just as pretty without all the fancy accoutrements, and the sight of his lovely soft body in the dim candlelight of their room made something in Geralt’s chest ache just a little.

He felt extremely pleased with himself at talking his way into Jaskier’s bed and knowing that nobody else was going to be in it. 

The bard eventually finished preening and crawled into bed with him. Geralt reached for him straightaway and rolled them so that Jaskier was lying sprawled over his chest. Jaskier squawked and ruffled his feathers until he relented and let Jaskier arrange himself to his liking. He pressed his nose into the crook of the bard’s neck, and audibly exhaled with relief as that honey-sweet scent filled his lungs.

He stroked his hands idly up and down Jaskier’s back, enjoying how much of the bard’s waist he could cover with one hand, and Jaskier seemed to melt into him, relaxing bonelessly into Geralt’s chest and using him as a pillow.

All he could sense was Jaskier now, his warm body covering Geralt like a blanket, the soft chuffs of his breathing rhythmic in his ear, and the whole world seemed to narrow to the two of them as the last tension left his body and he relaxed fully into sleep.


	4. Hanky Panky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier enjoy a morning to themselves... and Geralt apologises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mild somnophilia and dubious consent! Jaskier would be all over that in a hot second if the timing wasn't off!

Geralt resurfaced from sleep gently as dawn broke through the window. Jaskier was wrapped around him, legs tangled together and puffing little snores into Geralt’s hair. He smiled to himself and shifted minutely to get Jaskier’s hair out of his face. The warm weight of Jaskier’s body pressed against him as he moved, and he froze. Jaskier was hard against his thigh. Geralt’s stomach clenched hotly, and his mouth was suddenly dry. He shivered helplessly with the thought of it, and Jaskier’s hips rolled against him in response, one long slow drag of his cock against Geralt’s thigh, only the thin barrier of his smallclothes preventing him from spilling all over Geralt’s bare skin. 

Geralt’s mouth fell open. The rolling scent of arousal boiled off Jaskier’s body, mingling with his own and hanging thickly in the air around the bed, cocooning him in lust. He was caught off guard in the quiet early morning hours, the bard tangled around him, silky sheets against his skin and burning with wanting to roll them over, or for Jaskier to wake up and fuck into him properly. His senses were narrowed down to every inch of Jaskier’s cock and sweat prickled along his spine at the thought of it. Jaskier was still asleep, but he could feel the silky-hot trail of precum Jaskier was dripping against him through the thin cotton, a brand of fire he would be trying to remember for the rest of his life. He would smell like Jaskier for days if he didn’t bathe. He squeezed his eyes closed tight now and let out a soft whine. The bard was asleep, and it wasn’t right to be nearly begging for it. He was caught under the embodiment of every furtive half-formed desire he had dreamed in the dim light of their campfires and felt dizzy with weakness for it. What if Jaskier woke up and was angry with him? What if Jaskier woke up and _wasn’t_ angry with him?

Jaskier’s thigh was pressed flush against his own fully hard cock now, trapped in his smallclothes, and he ached to press closer, to let the bard rut against him and use him to completion. Geralt was working himself up now, and he couldn’t stop his hips from stuttering, abortive little motions that almost set him to whining again. He didn’t dare let himself think about what he looked like now, flushed and sweaty with lust, trapped under Jaskier and moaning for it. He was panting open-mouthed now, heaving in great gasps of air that only spurred him on further, surrounded by the heavy mingled scent of sex.

He pressed his nose into the bard’s neck and was unable to stop himself from letting his tongue flicker out, stealing a taste. Just a little one. Jaskier’s skin was sweetly hot and delicate in sleep. He was so close, just from this. Geralt’s pupils were blown wide, drinking in the miles of Jaskier’s beautifully honey-tanned back, a lovely contrast against his own pale hands. The swell of Jaskier’s pert bottom was illuminated in the golden sunshine. He’d never dared dream anything like this before. He was helpless in the face of such a lovely sight and couldn’t resist clutching Jaskier a little tighter. The feeling of Jaskier’s cock dragging against him, riding his thigh, and the friction of wet cotton against his own cock made him moan wantonly, too loud in the hushed bedroom. 

Jaskier shifted against him of his own volition then, and Geralt’s eyes fluttered shut at the spiralling heat clenching deep in his stomach. Something cold pressed against his throat then, and he opened his eyes to see Jaskier peering up at him lazily, his dagger once more dancing between long fingers. 

Geralt froze, caught. This time Jaskier really was going to stab him, and not in the good way.

‘What did I say about hanky-panky last night? Hmmm?’ Jaskier said softly, and with deliberate slowness pushed his thigh more firmly against Geralt’s aching cock, leaning over him fully and pressing him further into the bed. Geralt opened his mouth to try and explain, but all that came out was an undignified moan, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head with the friction.

‘Geralt….’ Jaskier said sternly. His eyes were dancing over the arc of Geralt’s body, seeming to enjoy the sight of Geralt all worked up and pinned beneath him. All he could breathe was the scent of Jaskier’s arousal, much thicker in the air around him now he was awake, a wave of heat pouring off his body. Perhaps Jaskier wouldn’t mind all that much if Geralt kissed him, just a little. Jaskier bit his plush bottom lip, and Geralt’s legs spread wider reflexively in invitation.

‘…Not to do it?’ Geralt managed, lungs working like a bellows to try and catch his breath.

‘Good boy.’ Jaskier slid the dagger back under his pillow and sprang up from Geralt’s embrace in one swift manoeuvre.

He got off the bed and strode over to the washing basin in the corner. Geralt slumped back on the bed, feeling the cool morning breeze shiver over his body. He flung his arm over his eyes, trying not to peek at Jaskier’s sunlit body glistening as he splashed himself briskly with cold water. Geralt took several deep rolling breaths, trying to calm himself down from the brink of what had promised to be a very good time. That was something he’d never let himself do before. He’d daydreamed for years about Jaskier perhaps one day being bored enough to turn to him for company, but it had never seemed likely. They had woken up entangled before, beside campfires and sharing beds in inns across their travels, but Geralt had always been too afraid to frighten Jaskier off. Now Jaskier had already left him once, and he didn’t have any dignity left to lose. 

He was startled into sitting up when Jaskier threw a fresh pair of breeches at him, and said ‘Come on, get dressed. I still need to shout at you.’ That announcement softened his cock like nothing else could. Geralt had been worried enough about apologising, and now he had taken advantage of the bard in his sleep. Guilt and shame spiralled around his head as he got into the breeches provided, and he didn’t dare glance at Jaskier again.

Jaskier was fully dressed now, in trousers and a creased looking shirt, leaning against the bedpost and waiting patiently for Geralt’s attention.

Geralt shuffled his bare feet, wishing faintly that he could put his armour on to stop feeling so vulnerable, or at least find his shirt. He felt raw in the morning sunshine and Jaskier’s piercing gaze.

‘Geralt. Look at me.’ He held Jaskier’s stare then and winced as what had been a pleasant expression suddenly morphed into anger. ‘You do not treat me like that Geralt. You do not turn around and blame me for things that weren’t my fault.’ Jaskier’s expression was cool and hard, but he betrayed his anger by pacing before the fireplace. ‘And you do not make a mockery of our friendship and try and claim I am a curse on your existence.’

Bizarrely Geralt felt his eyes prickling with heat. He had known this was coming, knew he deserved it, and had been anxious to get it over with, but the full brunt of Jaskier’s fury panicked him. The bard had been kind to him last night, let him tag along and stay in his bed, but what if he never wanted to see Geralt again? What if last night had been for old times sake before he threw Geralt out? He didn’t know what to do. The speeches he had practiced seemed paltry and false before the real Jaskier, and he was no wordsmith at the best of times. He could only beg Jaskier’s forgiveness and plead for mercy.

Geralt sank to his knees in desperation, hitting the floor of the bedroom with a thump that caught Jaskier’s attention. ‘I’m sorry Jaskier. I’m so sorry.’ He was truly panicked now, words spilling out faster and faster as he scrabbled for anything he could say to make things right. ‘Please, you have to believe me. I never meant it; I know it wasn’t your fault…please.’ Jaskier reached his side in three quick strides and embraced him. Geralt clutched for him, pulling the bard closer and letting out a choked cry of sorrow that he frantically tried to hold back.

‘I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to, please don’t leave me.’ He managed to plead into Jaskier’s ear, and Jaskier slid onto his knees before him and hugged Geralt fiercely. He broke into a sob, thinking of the misery of the road without him, and how he had fucked up badly enough to lose his only friend in the world besides Roach. Hot tears of shame and self-loathing finally fell from Geralt’s eyes, and he buried his head in the bard’s shoulder. Jaskier hushed him and rubbed comforting circles on his back. His breathing was coming harsher and harsher. 

‘I’m so sorry, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, it’s so lonely without you, please don’t leave me.’ Geralt couldn’t stop the words slipping out now, every miserable thought he’d had in that empty stretch without Jaskier finally bubbling over. 

‘Hush darling, it’s alright…. it’s alright now.’ Jaskier murmured and stroked his hair soothingly. Geralt tried to wipe his eyes surreptitiously, feeling his face burn with shame. Jaskier tipped his chin up and smiled at him reassuringly. ‘It’s alright darling, I promise I won’t leave again. But you must promise not to do that again. I nearly believed you.’ 

Geralt shook his head fervently at the thought of Jaskier believing a word of what he’d spat out on that blasted mountain. ‘No, I promise Jaskier, never. I didn’t mean it. You’re my best friend.’

‘Goodness me, our Roach will have something to say about that!’ Jaskier smiled at him again, trying to cheer him up. 

Geralt could barely see him through his bleary eyes and his breathing still shook. He buried his nose in Jaskier’s neck again and breathed in the bard’s honey scent, trying to calm himself. He screwed his eyes tight shut and dared in a quiet whisper. ‘Will you still travel with us?’ 

There. It was out now, and he wouldn’t have to wonder any longer.

‘Of course I will.’ Said Jaskier lightly, as if it was obvious.

Geralt felt his whole body slump, and he was sure that Jaskier was the only thing keeping him upright. He let out another half-sob, of pure relief, and then Jaskier’s hands were pulling him upright and over to the bed. He listened to Jaskier’s soft voice as if in another world, telling him to move closer and calling him darling. He was moving automatically, trusting Jaskier to guide him, as Jaskier climbed back into the bed and arranged Geralt around him so his ear was pressed against the solid thump of Jaskier’s heartbeat. Geralt’s head felt foggy and thick with the release of so many things he had bottled up, so he just hugged Jaskier tighter and let his heartbeat fill the world.

Geralt must have dozed off briefly because when he opened his eyes again, the sunlight in the room had shifted. It was later in the morning now, around breakfast time, and Jaskier was still stroking every inch of Geralt he could reach and humming sweet nothings under his breath. Geralt felt embarrassed over his outburst now, but Jaskier had forgiven him, so it was worth it. He wriggled a little, self-consciously, and Jaskier cupped his cheek gently. Geralt peered up at him, and Jaskier smiled fondly. 

‘Come on darling, you need some looking after don’t you?’ Jaskier said. Geralt felt as though he had been cracked open, scrubbed clean and put back together. The relief of being back at Jaskier’s side was overwhelming now, and he couldn’t help smiling back at the bard. The whole world seemed lighter. He had Jaskier back. 

Geralt knew they hadn’t discussed what had happened in bed this morning, but that was a whole different kettle of fish. He was quite happy keeping that discussion for much later, if only because he hadn’t had a chance to really dare to think about it yet. 

He felt too raw for much conversation though, and Jaskier seemed to understand, only starting up his usual comforting patter as he ushered Geralt out of bed for the second time and over to the table in the corner. It was covered in notebooks and sheet music, but he cleared a space and sat Geralt down, leaving his side for just a second in order to fetch breakfast from outside the bedroom door and flag down a passing servant for another bath.

The tray was piled high with still-steaming plates of sausages and fish, gleaming boiled eggs, plump bread rolls and even a huge pile of sweet oatcakes for afters. The delicious smell woke Geralt’s hunger, and he concentrated on making a dent in the tray as Jaskier sat beside him and hummed gentle music as their knees knocked together under the table.

‘What’s the plan for today then?’ He asked after polishing off the sausages and making a start on the rest of the fish, basking in Jaskier’s good humour.

‘Well I thought we could take the morning to ourselves, just the two of us again. Then I have rehearsal this afternoon. You’re welcome to come and watch, or do you have a contract you need to be chasing?’

‘No contract. I only came to Oxenfurt for you.’ Geralt said, and Jaskier tapped him cheekily on the nose. 

‘You’re very sweet to me.’ said Jaskier blushing prettily up at him through long eyelashes, and Geralt swallowed another mouthful of fish rather than be caught staring too long.

‘Then I thought, if you wanted, I could drag you along to the tavern crawl with me in the evening?’ He continued, idly tearing his roll to pieces.

‘Hmm?’ Geralt asked, eyebrows furrowing.

‘It’s sort of traditional at this point. We’ll all start out here, and then try and get a drink in every inn between the river and the University.’

Geralt frowned as he tried to remember just how many taverns he had seen in his travels the previous day, and then gave up counting after the first fifteen. ‘Sounds…. expensive?’ He hazarded. 

‘Don’t you worry about that sweetheart. We won’t be paying for our drinks. We’ll be singing for them.’ He winked at Geralt and then got up to answer a quiet knock at the bedroom door. A horde of servants swept in and brought in more hot water for a bath. Geralt finished his breakfast, lingering over the delicious oatcakes, and then tried not to watch Jaskier peeling off his clothes out of the corner of his eye. 

‘Come on darling. We don’t want the water getting cold.’ Said Jaskier, and Geralt turned in surprise.

‘I had a bath yesterday?’ He said, baffled now. 

Geralt didn’t really know where to look as Jaskier slid into the tub. ‘I know, but that was a quick scrub really, and I want to spoil you rotten.’

Geralt ducked his head, and thought about refusing, but it was a big bath, and if Jaskier wanted to be extravagant with bathwater when he wasn’t paying for it then Geralt was more than happy to oblige him. He pulled off his breeches quickly and clambered in to join him, groaning with relief at the heat of the water.

Jaskier pushed gently at his shoulder to turn him around, and Geralt settled gingerly against the bard’s chest as he lathered his palms with delicate smelling soap and began to scrub gently through his admittedly still road-dusty hair. 

Geralt couldn’t help but melt into Jaskier’s touch. Feeling Jaskier’s capable hands winding through his hair was something he wasn’t sure if he would ever have again, and happy memories of their travels soothed him before he had a chance to assume his default stiffness. He wasn’t sure there was much point being standoffish with Jaskier anymore. He had tried to keep him at a distance, even as Jaskier called him a friend, knowing Jaskier would leave as soon as he had his fill of stories, unable to believe his good fortune even after so long together. But Jaskier had promised not to leave him again, and the only thing that had chased him away in the first place had been Geralt lashing out and ruining everything. The last thing he wanted to do was travel the Path without Jaskier again, and the bard had already seen him crying. Jaskier had already seen him doing everything though, slaughtering monsters and men, even with his eyes hideously black, and had never left him until Geralt had treated him so harshly. 

There wasn’t anyone in the world who knew him like Jaskier, and it soothed the urge to hide after the display he had made of himself this morning. Jaskier didn’t think him foolish for it though. He had forgiven him so easily, and comforted him, and even now was spending his time washing Geralt’s hair rather than talk to his musician friends. Geralt knew that he would do whatever it took to keep from fucking up with Jaskier again. He had to do better. Jaskier was popular across the Continent, clever and beautiful and desirable, and so kind to him.  
He fussed over Geralt when he was injured, looked after him, shared songs and tales to brighten his formerly dull evenings and willingly shared his Path when he could have been the crown jewel of any rich court in the land. Jaskier was a treasure beyond compare, and Geralt didn’t know how he had managed to keep him, or why he bothered to keep a dull Witcher company at all. Somehow, he had to show Jaskier how much Geralt appreciated everything he did. Even when they were chased from towns by vengeful cuckolds, they were breathless with the thrill of the chase, and Jaskier could spin even the ordinary drudge of Geralt’s work into the golden moments of fond memories. He would have to show Jaskier that he was Geralt’s best friend in the world, treat him with all the care and attention the bard so easily offered Geralt, or risk losing him again. That was no choice at all.

Now that he was resolved on a course of action, it was startlingly easy to let himself relax even further against Jaskier’s chest and enjoy himself. He didn’t have to worry about keeping his guard up, because Jaskier was right here.

He let himself loll bonelessly against Jaskier, almost purring under the soothing motion of Jaskier combing all the knots from his hair with gentle fingertips. 

Jaskier stopped his gentle singing and pressed a kiss against his shoulder. ‘Are you alright there darling? You were thinking awfully hard?’

Geralt let out a happy hum of contentment and slid all the way under the water to rinse his hair. He resurfaced and shifted round slightly to face Jaskier. ‘Do you think….’ He said. ‘Do you think I could wash your hair? You do it for me so often.’ Jaskier beamed at him delightedly and swivelled around so quickly waves lapped the brim of the bathtub.

Geralt chuckled and reached for the soap. He lathered up his hands and began to copy what Jaskier had done for him so many times before. Jaskier’s hair was probably a lot easier than his own, being so much shorter, but Geralt was surprised to find himself rather enjoying it. Jaskier was relaxed against him, sighing happily, and the long lean lines of his body were visible through the cooling water. Geralt shot off an Igni before he’d even thought it through, and the steam rising from Jaskier’s end of the massive tub made the bard moan in contentment.

That sound, and the lovely sight of Jaskier so pliant and trusting before him had his cock stirring before he could muster the energy to panic about it. Dappled impressions of how he had awoken that morning rushed through his mind, and even the remembrance of Jaskier holding a blade to his throat again only made him stiffen more quickly. He tried to regather his senses, and finally remembered something Jaskier had mentioned offhand in the rush of the previous evening; the first time he held Geralt at the point of a knife.

Jaskier had mentioned a doppler. Pretending to be Geralt.

He felt a thrill of panic, and pulled Jaskier back around swiftly, but as gently as he could, and patted him all over, looking for injuries he might have missed in the evening light.

‘Geralt? What on earth?’ said Jaskier, spluttering and looking ridiculous with his hair still soaped up.

‘You said a doppler? Last night? Did they hurt you? How did you work out it wasn’t me?’ Geralt couldn’t find any injuries, and thankfully the prickling of lust had fled at the thought of Jaskier being hurt.

‘Oh yes, that was two, no three nights ago now. Very convincing, armour and all. They were just a rather keen fan, eager to meet me in person, and I indulged them in a song or two. They were a good sort really.’

‘But how did you know?’ Geralt said persistently. Dopplers were convincing; that was the bother of them. He couldn’t be tricked, thanks to his enhanced sense of smell, but they usually got enough surface memories to fool any number of humans, even one as clever as Jaskier.

‘They didn’t smile as much as you do.’ Jaskier said, grinning up at him.

Geralt’s jaw dropped at the thought of what his brothers at Kaer Morhen would say to that. He stared at Jaskier in disbelief, but the more Jaskier giggled, the more he was helpless to do anything other than grin back and try and dunk the bard under the water.

After enough playful splashing to half soak the carpet, Jaskier relented to his superior tactics and allowed himself to be rinsed, Geralt carefully shielding his pretty blue eyes from the lather.

They got out and dried themselves on huge towels, and Jaskier managed to look adorable swaddled in blue, whereas Geralt was sure the pink towel he was wrapped up in didn’t do anything for his pale colouring.

Jaskier perched himself on the bed once more, and Geralt settled on the floor between his knees when he beckoned so Jaskier could comb his hair properly. 

‘Oh, I’ve missed this. It’s been ages.’ Jaskier began to comb with relish, and Geralt hummed in response.

‘I want your three things Geralt!’ Jaskier said happily, and Geralt tried to think.

Every time their travels separated them for more than an evening, Jaskier would ask him for three interesting things he had seen on the Path. It was a tradition Geralt quite enjoyed, and one that brought Jaskier to mind whether they were apart for the winter or whether they had split for a week to maximise the earnings of their respective professions. 

Whenever Geralt found something he thought Jaskier would like to hear about, it felt as though the bard wasn’t so far away, and the dull wait until their next meeting would lessen as he practiced how to tell Jaskier in enough detail that the poet was satisfied. Jaskier would then make a fine little song of it their first night reunited in an inn or round a campfire, a private performance just for them to share, and one that Geralt would hum along with for days.

He was a bit stuck this time around though.

‘I went to Kaer Morhen straight after we… parted,’ he said sheepishly. Jaskier poked him in the side with his foot. 

‘And in the spring?’ 

‘I was looking for you.’

‘Geralt…’ said Jaskier, sounding almost surprised. He didn’t press Geralt any further, but he did stop brushing for a moment to squeeze Geralt in a tight hug.

‘I did see a wyvern though, in Kaedwen.’

‘On a contract?’ said Jaskier, just idly stroking his hair now.

‘No. Roach and I were making camp, and it flew overhead at sunset. Didn’t bother us, so we didn’t bother it.’ Jaskier laughed at this. 

‘And…’ He said hesitantly. ‘We rode past a whole field of nothing but dandelions. Roach wanted to stop and eat them, but I did tell her you’d be cross for it and she wasn’t allowed.’ 

‘That sounds lovely.’ Jaskier said. ‘I’d love to see it.’

‘it was on the way here, in Redania. We could go if you wanted to?’ Geralt said, hopefully.

‘That’ll be the first stop on our adventures then.’ Jaskier said, and Geralt mentally updated their itinerary to include Jaskier’s meadow.

‘And the third interesting thing?’

Geralt gasped, remembering. He twisted round to face Jaskier, and nearly got a bonk on the nose with the hairbrush before Jaskier yanked it away in time. ‘Jaskier! There were people on the road to Oxenfurt! Dressed as you! And me!’ He was nearly vibrating with excitement now. This was a very interesting thing indeed, and Jaskier was sure to have the answer for it.

Jaskier bubbled over with laughter and had to compose himself before he replied. ‘I bet you were surprised!’

‘Yes.’ Said Geralt, frowning now. ‘I kept thinking it was you.’

Jaskier patted him at this, and said ‘There are people who come along and enjoy the competition when it’s in their city, or country, and then there are people who travel the length and breadth of the Continent to watch. They make a point of attending every single one, and sometimes they dress up as their favourite contestant.’

Geralt was puzzled. ‘I am not a bard.’ He said patiently.

‘That’s true enough.' said Jaskier with a laugh. 'But Jaskier the bard has to have his White Wolf with him, doesn’t he?’

Geralt nodded at this. It did make sense. ‘We come as a pair.’ He said in agreement. 

Jaskier ruffled his hair softly and laughed ‘Yes, a right pair we make sitting round in soggy towels. Your armour should be all clean and polished again, if you’re ready for us to head down and show our faces?’

‘Five more minutes?’ said Geralt, and when Jaskier agreed with a smile he relaxed into more hair stroking, enjoying the bard’s hilarious narration of his own three interesting things, and quite failing to conceal the joy dancing in his eyes as he gazed up at Jaskier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to sadie’s back! Opal and bookslutskye on discord for helping me with the word boop!


End file.
